


The Space Between

by AndreaLyn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pike has a creative punishment in regards to McCoy's act of sneaking Kirk aboard the Enterprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

As it happened, it actually all started innocently.   
  
This was difficult to say because as far as McCoy was concerned, nothing in the universe could be absolutely innocent as far as Jim Kirk went, but for once, they couldn’t place the full blame on his head for the events that had come to pass. According to  _Admiral_  Pike, McCoy couldn’t just glide away without suffering a form of punishment for bringing Kirk on the _Enterprise_. He had seen fit to get creative and to announce that if McCoy couldn’t find himself capable of parting ways with the man, then he would be officially tied to Jim for seven days. McCoy had thought all that would be metaphorical until Pike pulled out that alien device.  
  
McCoy was starting to heavily regret healing Pike as well as he did. Yeah, yeah, ‘do no harm’ and all, but he was sure if Hippocrates had been put in the same situation, he might have considered fudging the rules a little.   
  
At first, McCoy hadn’t taken it fully seriously. Even with the strange alien band on his forearm, he thought it was something for show. Jim just smirked at him in that infuriating James T. Kirk way and McCoy had found himself unable to keep from laughing as they glided down the steps of the Academy hall and idly discussed whether or not McCoy had pried  _all_  the alien life-forms out of Pike’s ass.  
  
And then…  
  
And then McCoy had twisted in the other direction to head off for his appointments, gotten six feet away from Jim and immediately crumpled to his knees, feeling like he was dying. Pain was radiating from every last pore and he couldn’t draw in a good, deep breath. One quick glance to the side and he could see Jim doubled over and looking as if he was experiencing the exact same kind of pain.  
  
Their communication devices clicked on with a sharp hiss. “Boys,” Pike’s voice was scratchy over the line. “We weren’t joking around.”  
  
McCoy stumbled back within the five-foot radius and like a switch had been turned off, the pain vanished.   
  
“I don’t see how it’s fair that I’m getting buzzed,” Jim complained when they were both feeling well enough to head to McCoy’s first appointment of the day (which, god help him, was one of his three remaining therapy sessions with the Starfleet psychologist). “I mean, you’re the one who got all stupid and dragged me on board and called it a  _favor_.”  
  
“It’s constant exposure to you,” McCoy drawled, not even bothering to look to his side. “Killed my brain cells until I didn’t know what I was doing.” He might have normally stalked forward with long strides and let Jim catch up to him, but he was none too keen on having a repeat performance of that little shock that had gone straight to his brain and his knees, rendering him useless.   
  
When Jim was lagging behind and lolling about, McCoy grabbed his wrist to forcibly haul him forward. There was no  _way_  he was about to masochistically bring on pain for himself just because Jim occasionally didn’t know the meaning of moving his ass.   
  
“Where’re we going?” Jim asked idly.  
  
“Therapy,” McCoy grunted out. If he didn’t get his sessions finished soon, he’d be hanging around the Academy while everyone else graduated and moved on to their new lives. His hours were finished, his exams written, but he needed the stamp of approval before he could get an official appointment to a ship. And because of Pike’s little  _leash_ , McCoy now had to attend his therapy session with Jim Kirk in tow.  
  
 _Because this couldn’t get any worse_.   
  
“Ah,” Dr. Katz noted as they entered. “Admiral Pike mentioned that you might have company. Sit down,” she encouraged. McCoy hesitated as he took a seat on the couch and watched Jim mirror his actions not three feet away. McCoy wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that there had apparently been a campus-wide memo about this and didn’t want to look forward to the comments he was bound to soon endure from the majority of the surviving staff.  
  
Therapy with Jim was bound to be bad enough.  
  
Dr. Katz dug out her PADD and reclined back into her chair, tapping on it to bring up his history as she studied it carefully. “We left off on our last session with your guilt of leaving people behind,” she noted. McCoy tried not to tense any more than he already had, feeling like they ought to just cancel this. He knew that he’d given his damn tacit approval to let Jim sit in because he would rather just get it over with and Jim knew just about everything about McCoy that there was to know.  
  
Hell, Jim had practically made a hobby out of teasing Bones with the various psychological issues he had. And the other half of the things that McCoy hadn’t told him, he figured this was the easiest way of doing it. All the dark secrets of his past coming from a therapist somehow made the brunt of bearing them easier.  
  
“The reasons I dragged Jim on board have nothing to do with that,” McCoy said defensively, crossing his arms over his torso. “Just means I was stupid not to make any other friends and that Jim’s too damn good with his pouting.”  
  
“I won an award for it,” Jim supplied helpfully from beside him. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his heel was tapping the floor madly as if he couldn’t just sit still, else he might go twitchy with restlessness and boredom. McCoy didn’t want to think about how interested Jim looked in this topic of conversation. “So Bones has some kind of hero complex. Just means he knows that even a genius-level repeat offender is more beneficial on a ship than on the ground.”  
  
The doctor (thank god) ignored him and stared right at McCoy for a long period of silence.  
  
“Do you think your saviour complex is born out of what happened with your father?”  
  
This had come up in the third week of therapy and she had said then and there that it was a pressing concern. While euthanasia was no longer illegal, it was morally dubious and Starfleet would have to review his records in order to assess whether or not he would have a place with them. He was still waiting on the final decision.   
  
“What happened with your Dad, Bones?” Jim asked curiously, forming an effective tag-team.  
  
“I don’t think my father’s situation has anything to do with the attack on Vulcan,” McCoy replied curtly.  
  
“And your daughter?”  
  
“Bones,” Jim said quietly, catching sight of him and gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “You have a kid?”  
  
McCoy ignored that, not wanting to think about all of the things he had kept from Jim Kirk over the years because it’d seemed like a better idea to keep them secret. He leaned forward in an unconscious mirroring of his best friend and looked at the doctor, still counting the minutes (forty-seven to go yet).   
  
With a deep breath, he reminded himself that this was what he wanted and had intended to let Jim find out about this in some covert secondary way, whether it be an open piece of mail lying around or a drunken revelation.   
  
“What happened with my father was regrettable,” McCoy started, voice rough and heavy. “And love my child as I do, I’m not fighting the courts tooth and nail when Jocelyn took everything I had from me and I didn’t have a cent left to fight her,” he snapped. “So I left him behind because he asked me to and I left my life behind because I had no choice. So when Starfleet expected me to leave Jim behind and I had one goddamn window of opportunity to be able to spit in their face and do opposite, I did. And they can slap on this handcuff as punishment, but so long as I think I know what’s best for myself and the fleet, I’ll keep doing it.”  
  
He let Dr. Katz make the appropriate notes before leaning back against the couch.  
  
She moved on to discuss the medical ramifications of the mission and his reactions to that, but McCoy couldn’t help thinking that the only reason Jim was staring at him the way that he was had to do with all the new information he’d managed to get in a very small span of time. Forty-four minutes to go, McCoy thought to himself. They weren’t near-enough done for his liking.  
  
*  
  
They weren’t even a full day into their punishment and Jim was getting tired of the proximity issues already. Sure, there were worse fates in the world, but they probably weren’t as logistically annoying. And yeah, Bones was his best friend and there was pretty much no one else he knew who he could handle for so long (with the exception of a couple girls who were really flexible in bed), but five feet was crazy when you had to do things like eat and bathe and  _sleep_. They’d barely solved the bathing issue. Jim had sat on the floor of the bathroom while McCoy showered and vice-versa, but that left them with the issue of ‘where to sleep’.  
  
Jim had suggested his place, but McCoy had just scowled. “Your bed’s narrow as anything and I don’t want to know how many various genetic contributions are on your sheets,” he complained sharply. “We’ll go to my place.”  
  
Bones had moved out of their shared room during their second year when he started working at the family clinic for money. He rented a small apartment in downtown San Francisco and Jim spent a good portion of his time hanging around his place. He knew it had a decent balcony, a nice kitchen, and a gorgeous queen-sized bed that Jim had only once idly joked that he’d brought one of his one-night stands to (and he really had been mildly wounded when McCoy ran his black light over the sheets to check if that was  _true_  or not).  
  
So they had gone there and were now standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
“It’s not like this is the first time we’ve crashed the same bed,” Jim pointed out.  
  
“It’s the first sober time,” Bones argued, because the man couldn’t live and not be contradictory. They were standing at the foot of the bed and facing it like it was a punishment due to them, but neither was making the first move to crawl into bed. Jim had left the issues brought up in therapy alone and hadn’t even talked much about Pike’s punishment. Bones let out a lengthy sigh. “Alright, Jim, there’s enough room here for the both of us. Get in, don’t sleepwalk, and don’t kick.”  
  
That seemed to do the trick and Jim pushed under the covers, watching as Bones climbed atop them and turned the other way.  
  
Jim opened his mouth to ask about one of the many things he’d just found out about --  _fatherdaughterex-wifeissues_ , but he let that go because after the day they both had, they didn’t deserve more of that crap.   
  
He turned away from Bones and tried to get as much sleep as he could while he attempted not to think about what the future held in store for them if they could survive the next six days. He might have grabbed four hours of sleep that night and was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling when the dawn light flickered in through the window.   
  
He could hear Bones waking up before he saw it happen, heard those snuffling sounds and the covers being pushed around. Kirk just kept his palms folded over his chest and studied the stucco on the ceiling and the small stains that had managed to become permanent over time.  
  
“Bones,” Jim murmured quietly, when he was absolutely sure that his best friend was awake.  
  
“S’too early, Jim, whatever it is,” Bones complained, draping his cuffed forearm over his eyes and groaning heavily.   
  
“What happened with your father?”  
  
Maybe Jim was taking advantage of the fact that Bones couldn’t storm away from him without putting them both through a fair amount of hell. Yeah, it sounded as masochistic as it felt, but it was the truth. This was just the first question they were going to go through. Jim also planned to hit on the whole ‘you have a  _kid_!?’ and the ‘why did you  _really_  bring me on board? Really?’ and then there was the ever-present question of ‘what are we going to do after all of this?’ They had six more days bound to each other and they could deal with it as time went along.  
  
Kirk turned his head to the side, cheek pillowed in one of Bones’ pillows that held the smell of his best friend and when Jim pulled in a deep breath, he could smell Bones’ cologne and a hint of bourbon and everything about his friend he couldn’t name. It felt like  _home_.   
  
“Bones,” Jim pleaded. “After everything, you let me hear about this from your therapist,” he complained. “Have the decency to man up and tell me what happened to your Dad? I mean, you know all about mine,” he said, a sharp flicker of emotional pain shooting through him at the memory of his father and how Starfleet had immortalized him through his death. “What is it? Did he…was he not good to you?” And that brought on the memories of his stepfather, which weren’t any more pleasant.   
  
Bones was lying with his broad back turned to Jim, as if that barrier would keep anything  _real_  from being passed between the two of them.  
  
“Bones,” Jim sighed the name out, almost tenderly.  
  
“My father’s dead,” Bones said simply, not turning around to even dignify Jim with eye-contact when he got out the words.  
  
Jim shifted uncomfortably and moved closer, fingers brushing the thick cotton of Bones’ t-shirt and gathering up a small fistful of material as he lightly tried to tug his friend back to him. He succeeded in getting Bones to turn the slightest of angles and wished he didn’t understand that pained longing look in Bones’ eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He wished, so hard some years, that he didn’t have to spend every birthday thinking about how he wouldn’t even be alive if his father hadn’t given his life for all of them. He hated that his birth was tainted by the death of a man he’d never even been allowed to know.   
  
Bones let out a weary sigh and scrubbed both hands over his face.  
  
“I killed him.”  
  
Jim felt his stomach bottom out and his fingers clenched Bones’ shirt tighter than before as he struggled to find words through the icy haze of confusion and perplexed shock of what Bones had just told him. “You…wh…Bones,” he exhaled.  
  
“He was sick and dying, he begged me,” Bones said hoarsely. “I’d only been practicing two years, I searched all over the goddamn universe for a cure and rode in every last damned shuttle I had to and talked to every last useless alien race and nothing. There was nothing. He asked me and I gave in.”  
  
“Bones, it’s okay,” Jim insisted. “He asked you to…”  
  
“I found the cure three months later,” Bones interrupted the comforting and those seven words shocked Jim Kirk into silence.  
  
That usually would have been the cue for Bones to stalk off, find himself a morning nip of a drink, and not see Jim for another week. Except that now they were as good as stuck at the hip and Jim had to sit there and pay for his curiosity. And  _shit_ , but he hadn’t even touched base on the kid issue yet.  
  
“Bones, you did what you thought was best,” Jim insisted. “Okay? End of story.”  
  
With that, he turned away from Bones, released his shirt and let his fingers brush the warmth of Bones’ neck before relinquishing his line of vision on his best friend. He tried not to focus on the weary sigh he heard come from Bones that felt like it was so weighted with grief that it might well start caving in on Bones’ chest if they let it.  
  
It took another two nights and two days before Jim approached one of the Big Topics again.   
  
They had managed a routine of sorts. They stood on opposite sides of doors to dress and they bathed the same way they had the first day. Bones cooked for the both of them while Jim sat on the counter beside him and leaned in to sample it to make sure Bones wasn’t making anything too spicy. They attended meetings together and Bones even managed to save his sarcastic comments for after the discussions. Not another word had been said about Bones’ father and the discomfort between them had lifted only hours after that initial discussion.  
  
And then while getting ready for bed on the fourth night bound together, Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at Bones over his shoulder. It was Bones’ turn to be under the covers and they were slowly settling into their usual night routine when Jim actually dared to approach the kid thing.   
  
“Boy or girl?”  
  
“No, Jim, you can’t have either right now because I swear to god,” Bones grumbled, “if you even so much as think about bringing someone back to  _my_  bed and have sex with them when I’m right next to you…”  
  
“Your kid. Boy or girl,” Jim cut him off and infused the words with a little more ‘oomph’.   
  
Jim didn’t take his eyes off of Bones while he shifted uncomfortably, shoulders rolling back as he pressed his back against the headboard and kept his eyes on Jim. “Girl,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Seven years old. Joanna McCoy,” he said the name like it pained him to get it out and Jim knew it wasn’t possible, but he swore he could see the grief weighing down on McCoy’s chest and he felt a small amount of guilt at bringing this out of him.  
  
Maybe this would get better when they dragged every last secret out into the open.   
  
“Bones,” Jim laughed, feeling like this was absolutely ridiculous and his stunned and breathless laugh was confirming that. “I swear to god…” he muttered. “We’ve known each other _three years_!” he insisted desperately. “And you, you have a kid, you have a seven-year old kid and you never  _said_  anything.”  
  
“It’s not like Jocelyn lets me see her,” he snapped. “I told you she took everything from me in the divorce and that includes custody and visitation rights of my own goddamn daughter, Jim, what the hell are you trying to accomplish poking every last one of my goddamn buttons!” he swore without even taking a breath. “I’m not some practice dummy for you to get your empathy training on,  _Captain_ ,” he snarled and made it sound like an accusation and an insult at once the way Jim had never heard before. It made Jim recoil and he nearly bolted away if not for the momentary brush of his fingers against the cuff that reminded him that if he even so much as moved a foot forward, they were in for a heavy shock of pain.  
  
“Bones,” Jim said quietly, shifting back on the bed and splaying his hand out on McCoy’s clothed arm. “Bones,” he reiterated, when Bones wouldn’t even give him so much as a grunt of recognition. “Bones, I’m sorry. You just…you know everything about me. You know about my parents and you know how my mother was never the same after the Kelvin and you know what my stepfather did to me and, hell, you wrote my file on my promiscuity issues….which, by the way, three weeks and counting,” he announced with a smug little sound of delight (because even in the face of Bones severe anger at him, he could manage to be arrogant of his own accomplishments). “And you know everything, Bones, everything.”  
  
…okay, so that was a lie, but it wasn’t one that Jim felt like sharing when the subject of the lie was currently pissed off at him.  
  
“My daughter and my father are my own issues,” McCoy said quietly, though he didn’t try and shake Jim’s hand from his body. “So leave ‘em alone, Jim.”  
  
On day six of their seven day imposed imprisonment, it came time for Jim to approach the topic of the ‘why’, the big ‘why’, the ‘why’ that was likely to shake things up to the point that they’d turn unrecognizable and they wouldn’t be able to shake them back.  
  
It was a colder night, one where the fog rolled in and the dampness of San Francisco chilled even the natives to the bone. It was because of this that instead of switching off under-over the covers, they were both under the thick wool of Bones’ blanket.  
  
Jim had draped one arm around Bones’ waist to tug him closer, as if this was just a normal occurrence for them. Jim was ignoring the tension he felt beneath his fingers and just tried to keep his mind on the topic.   
  
“Bones,” Jim murmured.  
  
“What is it tonight, Jim? The ex-wife?” he sighed in response, as if giving in to the fact that this conversation was going to happen no matter what. “Do you want to talk about my childhood? Maybe you want to know about the stallion I had to put out to pasture.”  
  
“No, I…” Jim paused. “…you had a stallion?”   
  
“I was seven.”  
  
“Why’d you bring me on board?” Jim ignored that tempting little piece of information and dove into the more important matter. His hand was still resting on Bones’ hip and they were close – even for their imposed limit of five feet. At the moment, there couldn’t be more than five inches between their bodies. Jim could lie and say it was to keep warm, but he knew better than that. “You said it was because you could control something, but…Bones…”  
  
Bones let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at Jim with those dark eyes of his. With the moonlight fading into the room, they almost looked ethereal and unreal.   
  
“You could have just stayed behind, too.”  
  
“It was your damn dream to be on that ship,” Bones sighed. “And I wasn’t about to let my best friend miss out on that. And I couldn’t leave you behind. Don’t think I could now, either. Jim…”  
  
“Yeah, Bones?”  
  
Those five inches seemed way, way too close for comfort and Bones eased in a little more. “Get your hand off my hip,” he said as he licked his lips and sent Jim the mother of all conflicting messages. Jim didn’t oblige and instead he dug out his other hand from the beddings and used it to cup McCoy’s cheek to stop the man from turning to look away (one of the last refuges when you were bound to someone else). “Jim,” Bones said uncomfortably.  
  
“I kind of lied when I said you knew everything, Bones,” Jim admitted. “I’ve got stuff. Stuff like my mother making contact with me last year and asking me to come do practical theorem on her ship and how I turned her down because it was around the time of the anniversary of your divorce. Like how I actually had a girlfriend I was monogamous with for two months while you were in New Orleans doing that internship with that bigwig doctor because no one else was around for me to have dinner with or go to the movies with. And that time you caught me drunk as all-shit at the tattoo parlor?” Jim cracked nervously. “Yeah, it definitely wasn’t a ‘Mom’ tattoo you stopped me from getting.”  
  
“That’s small shit, Jim,” Bones protested.   
  
“Bones,” Jim argued, shooting him a ‘come on, man’ look. “Shut up. Before I tell Pike you could use a gag for this punishment too.”  
  
“This is not the time or the place for being kinky, Jim,” Bones warned, as if Jim didn’t have one hand on Bones’ hip and the other wasn’t on his cheek (thumb idly stroking up and down a stubbled cheek).   
  
Jim was having trouble with the confinement and it wasn’t just that they were using flimsy barriers between each other in all those moments of intimacy, but because this was happening right before the future was set to barge in on their lives and change everything.   
  
“Pike told me before your hearing that I’m going to be Captain,” Jim said, which Bones already knew. He was repeating it more for the sake of what was coming next, “and said that I could have you as CMO if you fulfilled a set punishment. I might have been the one who suggested this because it was something I could control. It was something I could make sure you did.”  
  
“Jim,” Bones growled.  
  
“I need you, Bones,” Jim admitted quietly.   
  
“Yeah, we’re codependent,” Bones sighed. “I know that, you know that, we had a whole psychology class devoted to us in second year over it, what’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
Jim moved that hand on Bones’ hip slowly around his front until he could nudge it inside his pants and under the waistband of his underwear, sliding it inside and pressing closer until there was absolutely no space between them. “Bones,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing against the swell of Bones’ half-hard cock.   
  
And he didn’t need to say anything more on the subject because they were both geniuses. They both got it.  
  
Bones was trying not to push up against Jim’s hand, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.   
  
“Do you need me?” Jim wondered aloud, drifting in closer until he was repeating those same words ( _do you need me_ ) against McCoy’s lips, brushing their lips together again and again while searching for his answer and Bones was trying to keep his hips absolutely still. His fingers slowly entwined within the strands of Bones’ hair as he kissed him full on the lips, asking the same question.   
  
Bones let out a long moan and then something gave because Bones’ hips canted forward with a seeming  _shove_.   
  
Jim parted, panting, and fixed his gaze on McCoy’s face. “ **Do you need me**?” he demanded, now, not as kind in his questioning as he was before.  
  
“I’m not leaving you behind on any rock, so help me,” Bones hissed at him, voice rough. “Yeah, I need you, kid.” Except he was saying those words and he was drawing his body away from Jim, taking his lips away from Jim, removing every part of his body from Jim’s touch to the point that he let out a whined sound of discontent to be so far from him. Bones was coming back, though, after opening the drawer beside his bed and tossing a condom packet and a small bottle of lube between the two of them.  
  
Kirk just smirked devilishly, slightly coquettishly.   
  
“Okay, then,” was all he exhaled before he went to work showing McCoy just how much he  _needed_  him.  
  
*  
  
The cuffs came off after nearly seven days exactly.  
  
There were two guards tasked with unlocking the cuffs who didn’t linger when their task was finished. Pike dismissed them easily and turned a knowing smirk on McCoy while leaning heavily against a desk. His legs were weak yet, but he was vertical thanks to McCoy’s surgical skills.   
  
“Well, I hope you learned something,” Pike advised simply.   
  
McCoy nodded dutifully, rubbing at his now-bare forearm and casting a glance to his side. Jim was licking his lips and staring up and down McCoy’s body as if he was an edible treat and Jim was a starving man. He let out a long sigh and turned his attention to Admiral Pike.  
  
“Yeah, I learned something,” he managed with a dutiful nod. “I learned that you really shouldn’t be teaching the young captains about creative methods of problem solving.” He pressed his lips together and knew he shouldn’t just smart-mouth his way through this private hearing. “And I learned that I shouldn’t be sneaking unauthorized personnel onto Starfleet’s ships, even if they do end up saving the day.”  
  
That got a wry smile out of Pike and a sympathetic look in his eyes.  
  
“You’ll handle him on that ship, Doctor?”  
  
“As much as any man can,” McCoy swore dutifully, swatting at Jim’s wrist. He pushed forward to help Admiral Pike slightly to his feet, trying to brace his weight to get him back to his wheelchair. When they were just out of earshot of Jim, McCoy leaned in, hands on both of the arms of the chair. “Any way I can get those cuffs to help with that task?”  
  
Pike just smirked knowingly. “I’ll have a pair sent to your quarters on the ship,” he agreed. “You can bind him within five feet of inanimate objects, as well.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” McCoy saluted with great relief, easing back from the chair and giving the Admiral room to wheel out.   
  
He leaned against the wall of Admiral Pike’s study and it wasn’t long before Jim joined him, pressing up against McCoy’s body and sliding his palms up McCoy’s hips, then down again, before pushing them up under his shirt. He was resting his chin on McCoy’s shoulder as if he was casual-as-you-please about all of this.   
  
“You can move more than five feet away from me now, Jim,” McCoy reminded him lightly.   
  
Jim let out a quiet ‘eh’ and shrugged his shoulders as he leaned in to kiss McCoy heavily. “Don’t need to,” he admitted. “Need to…” And he leaned in and whispered a string of the universe’s  _dirtiest_  intentions into McCoy’s ear, licking the spot on his neck right below his ear and nipping at his earlobe before starting in on a hickey at McCoy’s neck.  
  
“Fine,” McCoy sighed. “But when Uhura makes Spock nerve-pinche you for making them watch, I’m not dragging you to sickbay.”  
  
“Oh, yes, you are,” Jim promised.  
  
And yeah, he probably would.  
  
THE END


End file.
